Freak is very confused.

There was a guest in the house earlier who wanted to talk to him but Aunt Petunia made it clear that was not allowed, that Aunt Petunia would need to talk to him first about it.

He doesn't understand why they keep talking about Freak as Harry, but he learns.

Freak's parents come from a world which is full of not-normal people. They are going to call him Harry or Mr. Potter. He will have to answer to that name. He will have to be Harry. Boy and Freak are private names he must never give out. For the first time in his life Freak is read a childhood story – the one of Rumpelstiltskin.

Aunt Petunia makes it clear that knowing his real name, Freak, will give people power over him. It's something he cannot tell friends or anyone, something only close family like a sister, as Aunt Petunia was to his mother, is entrusted with. Harry learns that if they had his real name, not his public name, they could make him do anything.

Green eyes wide in fright, Freak reassures Aunt Petunia that he would never tell anyone about this. He doesn't want anyone to hurt his family. He gets a pat on his head – Freak doesn't remember the last time his family were so proud of him that they touched him gently and he glows with pride.

Boy, he learns, is not-quite his private name but to keep it to himself nevertheless. Freak nods rapidly. He doesn't want to disappoint his family.

Then he learns more about his parents than he ever had before.

"You were too young, before, and really we would have waited another few years to be kind, but their world is not that kind," Aunt Petunia tells him and Freak nods quickly. He knows his family is kind to him, knows that the world his parents come from is full of violence and death.

So Freak learns that his mother was a woman of 'loose morals' as his Aunt calls it and that she was a vengeful woman who cared for very little, would change her opinion as her mood changed, which was often. He learns that a good mother, like Aunt Petunia, would have taken her child and fled when there was a war. Not his mother. His mother didn't care if she endangered Freak's life.

His father was a spoiled brat who was as likely to sell his mother to his friends as he was to ignore her. Freak hadn't been important to him.

Then another person from the war attacked them at home to kill Freak. Aunt Petunia makes it clear that while her sister's obstinacy is the reason they were still in the country to be attacked, it's Freak's fault that they are dead.

His parents owed debts and Freak is incurring debts because he is living in this world and not contributing before he goes back to his parents' world. That's why he has to work so hard. His parents died leaving him with both their debt. And that wasn't what good, normal people did, Aunt Petunia clarified; not that she needed to.

But that's not what they would tell Freak. They'd make his parents out to be perfect, and that they loved him, because they want Freak to stay in their world, they would tell him more and more lies. But Aunt Petunia had grown up with her sister. That was like Freak saying he didn't know what Dudley was like and that people who met him a few times would know him better only closer – because Dudley was only a cousin but Lily had been her sister. Aunt Petunia and now Freak knew the truth, but, she reminded him, they know to take away your thoughts and memories and have things which can suck out your soul. They can and will change everything about you, she reminds him sternly, so never let on that he doesn't believe them.

They also told Aunt Petunia that Freak must not go to school or be outside or have friends only to change their minds now, she says. That means they just didn't want him to have contact with normal people so he only believes what lies they tell. Freak is amazed at how clever his Aunt is, seeing through all these plots and tells her so. That earns him a smile – twice, in one day, he made them proud. Often there were months between good moments – this is unheard of. Freak blushes.

They will want him to be reading their books and writing on them. He won't be, she informs him and Freak nods. He has never learnt how to read and write anyway. But she worriedly informs him, she thinks he has to stay in their world until he is fifteen. Or graduates. But she isn't sure, because they will not talk to her.

His most important rule is to keep his head down, not make eye contact, obey orders, never question and never fight back. Magic using will be a necessary evil until then, because he cannot pretend not to and he needs to try and graduate.

Freak nods and hopes he will remember all his orders. Most of them aren't so different, but he needs to remember that all the new people are not-to-be-trusted and not to tell them he doesn't trust them. Make them believe he trusts them like when Dudley lies and says Freak ate the last chocolate cake.

He gets another pat on his head when he tells her he will make them proud and that his family is everything. Freak is floating on clouds for the rest of the day.

Aunt Petunia is making him go outside now, at least at night, waking him up when it's pitch black and making him step outside. It's frightening and scary. There is a breeze which has so many new smells he doesn't know. There is the dark sky overhead which seems to take away all the light from the day and seems never-ending – it's frightening and scary but Aunt Petunia says Harry has to.

So he does.

He's Harry now, Freak reminds himself. He has to do Harry things like be outside and like the other witches and wizards even though they were the ones who made sure Freak wasn't allowed this in the first place.

He hates them.

A giant comes suddenly and takes him to the Wizarding World. He asks Harry about the subway but Harry doesn't know. He asks Harry about Muggle money but Harry doesn't know. In the end they use a magic bus. He's seen busses in passing on TV but he didn't know they were so fast or wobbly. Harry feels sick when they arrive, and as wobbly as the bus was, but his tummy has been empty for two days other than water, so nothing comes up. He follows the scary giant, flinching at the abrupt movements, but making sure to keep his head down.

When his name is announced and everyone pounces on him, Harry goes pliant and lets himself be manhandled, not bothering looking up or responding other than quick little nods, even though he hasn't heard of the person introducing themselves nor does he remember the other one. From where? Freak thinks incredulously, but Harry just keeps being compliant and nodding until the giant shuffles him away.

His little heart is racing when he is introduced to Diagon Alley. So many dangers, his eyes catalogue, so many things not observed or watched, but Aunt Petunia had said they cared very little for other people.

Keeping his head down is really his best policy, Harry notes, stepping closer to the giant. Everyone else gives the man a wide berth – which also means Harry doesn't have to further interact with all these strangers.

"Gringotts," Hagrid announces, explaining the bank, goblins and how stupid stealing from them would be without prompting.

Harry nods and follows. The giant seems to deflate but Harry doesn't know why, so he disregards it.

It's only after they're back upstairs and the giant has left to get a drink, that Harry steps back into the bank and in line.

Aunt Petunia hadn't told him anything, but she had said that James – Freak's father – was rich. And he had seen a pile of gold. Maybe he could pay Petunia so their debt was gone?

It took a few moments before Harry was waved forward.

"I-" he whispers, stuttering, nervous speaking to anyone outside of his home. Harry falters.

"Time is money, wizard," the goblin reprimands between bared teeth and Harry ducks his head.

"A bank statement," he says. Harry cannot bring himself to phrase it as a question.

The goblin sneers, he notes, peering up over his eyelashes.

"Your key?" He asks, equally curt and Harry blinks. Oh. Hagrid had that.

The sneer widens when Harry shakes his head.

"Drop of blood," he says and hands Harry a knife and parchment. Injuring his hands is never clever, Harry knows, because all his chores require his hands and if he reopens them and spreads blood around it's always really messy and hard to clean up.

To Harry it seems only logical to make a cut on top of his lower arm and stretch it across to the goblin, who seems surprised before scoffing and putting his leathery hand around Harry's own and pushing his arm back until it hovers over the parchment.

The blood drops down and the parchment fills. The goblin gestures for the knife and Harry hands it back, handle first, which earns him another surprised glance. Harry wonders just how inept the people in this world are, to not consider such basics. He pushes his shirt down over the cut and presses down, making sure the rest of the blood is absorbed by the fabric rather than dirty their floors. Harry doesn't intend to crawl on these fancy floors with all these evil witches and wizards about just to clean up his blood. Nor does he want to dirt them with his blood – he had seen the axes and swords these goblins wore; he had no intention of incurring their wrath.

The goblin looks at the information, then nods and calls something out to another goblin in their own guttural language. Minutes pass before he is handed a sheaf of paper. Harry hesitates for a moment but then continues.

"Can I transfer everything to my aunt?"

This time the goblin's eyebrows furrow and stare at him. God, Harry knew asking questions was nerve-wracking and even his aunt usually gives him a slap when he does, but this creature seems incensed after checking the sheet.

"Muggle aunt?" The goblins asks, looking even angrier.

Harry hesitates. He had heard that word a few times today but wasn't sure. "Aunt Petunia," he says, just to make sure.

"Are you dissatisfied with Gringotts?"

Harry blinks.

"…No?"

The goblin stares at him a moment longer before huffing.

"Anyway. You can't close the account until you have finished your Hogwarts education – either with your OWLs or NEWTs."

"Oh," Harry says despondently. No way to pay back his debt for now.

"You can," the words appear grudging, gritted out between clenched teeth, "transfer the maximum amount per month to her."

Harry brightens.

"Yes, please."

"You will not have any money you can access for emergencies, not even school supplies if you do this. Your aunt will have to purchase them for you."

Harry shrugs.

"That's fine."

The goblin nods.

"A standing transfer, then. Put your blood here."

Harry swipes it from his arm and does. His aunt will be hopefully happier with him when he can tell her this, even though Harry did have to ask questions, he thinks it was worth it.

"Thank you, Mister Goblin, sir."

With another respectful nod, Harry grabs his paperwork to his chest and makes his way out. He peeks into the clothing store the giant wants him to go to and sees a blonde kid being measured. Even Dudley gets his clothing off-the-rack and not measured.

There must be a second-hand store somewhere.

When Harry comes home, he's managed to get his trunk, clothes and books second hand. He didn't dare dispute the supplies when Hagrid was with him, but he wishes he could have left the books and writing stuff behind. It's not like he needs them, just an unnecessary expense, but Aunt Petunia's face appears in his head, reminding him to keep his head down and not fight them. So he doesn't and follows the giant around, buying as he is told to. At least he cut some of the costs down. He even managed to buy a second hand wand – although Hagrid appears surprised Harry already has one, he doesn't question it. Then, before being returned to the Dursleys, he is gifted with an owl.

He first thinks the giant intends to eat it but is then told it's for post. He doesn't think Aunt Petunia would like an owl hovering around delivering mail – the mailman seems a much better option and taking his job away is kind of mean. But he nods and smiles and when the giant is gone, he opens the cage door.

"Be free and fly far away," he tells the owl. If every wizard and witch here uses owls, she will be better of flying to another country. The owl hoots and jumps out hesitantly. When he closes the cage and steps away from her, she finally takes flight. Good.

The trunk takes up a lot of space in his cupboard, he finds out, but he can stretch himself sort of against and over it, so it's not so bad. Aunt Petunia is waiting for him in the kitchen and tells him to sit down on the chair.

Harry frets – he'll have to clean it thoroughly after, he's not supposed to sit there, but Aunt Petunia knows best. He explains the savings he made and hands her the leftover money along with the bank statement and copy of the transfer.

Aunt Petunia smiles and pats his head.

Harry is over the moon with the affirmations; he's done well.

Getting to the platform is easy. Aunt Petunia tells him how to get there and he sneaks through when no one is watching. The ride to Hogwarts is difficult. There are benches and closed doors but people are obviously expected to share. There are so, so many people.

Harry hides in the luggage compartment, away from the door and windows. He ends up getting a bit bruised from the trunks flying into him when the train goes around corners but he didn't have to deal with anyone and the bruises are no worse than the ones he gets from Dudley on a regular basis, so he counts it as a win.

Unfortunately, he cannot avoid sharing a boat. He lets the blond kid brag and gloat – he thinks it's the same one who got made-to-measure clothing – and shuffles in next to one of the two boys who are sized a bit like his cousin. It feels more comfortable.

The blond asks him questions occasionally but doesn't appear to need Harry to do anything other than nod intermittently, which is a relief. It's familiar and comforting and Harry doesn't know how to talk. He is awkward and doesn't know how to say things right, Aunt Petunia had said. She'd also said that if he had been allowed in the muggle world, he'd been more comfortable and outspoken with lots of friends like his cousin. Another thing they took from him.

The ghosts are frightening, Harry thinks. Imagine living your entire life and working hard to pay off your debt only to incur more in the afterlife and be a burden on society even after death. Your children and grandchildren would never be able to pay it off; maybe that's why the Wizarding World was so staunchly set on remaining separate, knowing just how big a debt they'd have to pay if they rejoined the normal world.

When Harry dies, he wants to just disappear. He likes that thought, has thought it over a few times. No more pain, no more gnawing emptiness in his stomach, no more being afraid, no more working from dusk till dawn only to still not manage every task. But he doesn't want to leave Aunt Petunia with his and his parents debt. That would be mean – he doesn't want to be anything like his mother. So when he can give her all the money his dad has, Aunt Petunia says she thinks the debt will be paid. Then he can go. Aunt Petunia will send him out when he's seventeen anyway and Harry doesn't know anything about people and the world. It frightens him to think about.

Disappearing, on the other hand, seems nice. To just not be.

Poor ghosts.

He ignores the loud redhead who keeps asking for him. He doesn't want everyone to look at him and the two large friends of the blonde kid hide him nicely behind their bulk.

Everyone seems amazed at the ceiling but Harry has no intention of staring at the black void which looks like it might suck him up, nor at the thousands of voices and eyes he feels are all directed at him. His head remains down.

"Potter, Harry," he's finally called up and quickly makes his way to the chair, clambering onto it awkwardly. He's still not used to them but Aunt Petunia had said he must, that he must appear as one of them. So he does.

The hat falls over his head.

"Well, what do we have- …. Oh, child," the voice seems to come from inside the hat and Harry blinks in surprise but settles down quickly. If wizards could take away your thoughts and memories, why wouldn't they be able to talk inside his head?

"This was never supposed to have happened – not to you or any other child," the hat says and Harry wonders what he is talking about. He is uncomfortable both with the chair and the voices whispering agitatedly outside.

"You have so much bravery, you are incredibly loyal even to those who don't deserve it." Harry thinks he isn't loyal to anyone but the Dursleys and they were much deserve every ounce of loyalty he can give after putting up with him for so long and now for a few more years, but doesn't dispute the hat. He remembers Aunt Petunia's rules.

"But there's only one house for you. Gryffindor would badger you and never take a second look. Hufflepuff would leave you alone if you wanted to, but Slytherin may yet help you if they dare to look and see. The head of their house will be good for you if he just opens his eyes. I hope he does. But you are cunning and sneaky and you may yet find good friends in that house. Keep your chin up, Harry, this is not the end, this is just the beginning. Do not give up, please."

"SLYHTERIN!" The hat shouts and Harry takes off the hat the moment he appears permitted to, handing it off to the teacher standing beside the chair. The woman appears frozen, staring at him. Not his problem, Harry decides.

At least he noticed enough to know that Slytherin house is the green one. The ones for the outcasts, given the lack of cheering they received throughout the sorting. That's alright though, that means less focus will be on him, probably. Harry finds a spot at the end next to one of the burly friends of the blonde kid. Unfortunately, while the sorting does continue, the blonde kid seems very focused on him and keeps trying to ask him questions which require more than a nod. After a moment, though, he's let off the hook when food magically appears on the table.

Harry stares.

Is this real people food? Who makes that much food? What are they meant to do with all this?

Everyone else piles food on their plate, eating neatly, like Aunt Petunia and very much unlike his cousin, but Harry doesn't know what to do.

He shouldn't be seated at the table, but he is, because he has to blend in. But, he frets, he should never eat at the table. Harry isn't allowed to. He eats a few quick morsels over the sink, nothing like this. This is main courses, for the family – not scraps and leftovers.

However, Aunt Petunia did tell him to blend in.

Glancing around, he watches under his lashes and mimics. He grabs what they eat and eats how much they do. Even when his stomach feels like it's going to explode and the food tastes too rich, he forces himself, reminding his body that Freak must blend in.

Then comes dessert. At this point, Harry is certain his magic which heals his injuries faster than Dudley ever heals, is also making sure he's not throwing up. Magic is not normal and not good, but is helping him blend in, so it's useful. It's also helped him complete chores when his hands were sore. He pushes himself, gets dessert as well and then follows the others as they leave.

They lead the way into the dungeons where the first years are told to stand and wait for their Head of House, Professor Snape.

The man arrives with a dark scowl and in a graceful swirl of his robe.

"Welcome to Slytherin House. I will not mollycoddle you – the other houses and teachers will discriminate against you, be biased against you and be unfair. You will be subject to pranks and bullying. But you are not alone. This house stands together and we will stand with you. If you are being mistreated, if you are being bullied, talk to the prefects, to older years or come to me. I am here to help you and assist you but I do not enjoy being called out for trivialities. I'm here if your other resources fail, and if students cannot deal with it. In Slytherin, you will learn how to stand on your own, how to rely on others to assist you when you reach out and how to work together. Familiarise yourself with the rules. For your help previous students have taken to annotating them with exceptions and to ease understanding – don't break them. Alright then, mandatory health checks tomorrow with Madame Pomfrey – the timetable will be on the noticeboard by the time you get up in the morning. Any questions?"

No one dared to ask – or even breathe, Harry felt – and the intimidating man swept away with a scowl. But then he stopped, hesitating for a second before turning back around.

"Mr. Potter," he said with a cold, silky smooth voice and it took Harry a moment to remember that the name referred to him. He stepped out and in front of the strict man, eyes down, ignoring the disdainful scoff.

"Now, I knew your father, and I will not tolerate your bullying, torturing or any so-called pranking of anyone in this house, is that understood, Potter?" Harry nodded rapidly, eyes fastened on the man's shirt button so he didn't make eye contact.

"And I know you were spoiled to the nth degree before coming here, but you will not get any special treatment from me, is that clear? If you have any issue, you better sort it out yourself and if it reaches me, you will wish it hadn't. And you will treat all staff with respect, am I understood?"

Harry nodded again and the man scoffed, obviously not believing him. That's fine. Aunt Petunia never believed him either, but Harry still had to try and be better – maybe someday he'd get there. Not that this was the case here, but this man was the closest to the Dursleys he had met.

"Out of my sight, boy. If you can't even look into my eyes when you say you'll be respectful, I have little hope for your future behaviour."

Boy. Aunt Petunia had said that was his not-quite private name. Maybe Professor Snape had known his parents enough for them to divulge that one?

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

With another nod, Harry stepped away, ignoring the slight double take his Professor took behind him at the honesty and lack of sarcasm in his voice. Then the Professor left.

"So, Potter, how did a mudblood like you get into a pureblood house?"

One of the older years asked and there was laughter around Harry. He didn't understand, but he knew the right response anyway.

"Sorry," he muttered, keeping still and eyes averted, inciting yet more laughter.

"Look at that, not even a little bit of a fight in him. And they all thought he'd get into Gryffindor. What a letdown!" The boy kept talking at the rest of the house before turning back to Harry. "You don't belong, Potter, you understand? Even Snape said he wouldn't protect you."

"Yes," he says, hesitantly. Adults are Sir or Ma'am. But he hadn't ever had to interact with children or teenagers other than his cousin, whose form of address was simply Cousin. How was he meant to address these people? Cousin was inappropriate as was Sir or Ma'am.

He hesitates too long and the group disperses with another few mocking remarks. Harry follows the other first years when they ascend the stairs. Apparently they share rooms – two per room.

What baffles Harry is that he gets one too. And a bed. His trunk is already in front of one of the two beds. Harry blinks in confusion only to get shoved aside by the blonde kid.

"I don't want to share," the kid whines and huffs and Harry is very familiar with that tone of voice from Dudley. Of course, he probably wanted the space for his toys – this really does seem too small for a kid like Dudley.

"Of course, sorry."

He grabs his trunk and drags it out. It must have been a mistake anyway, Harry would never get – or need – that much space, nor a bed. The decision therefore was gratifyingly simple. The blonde kid blinks in stupefied surprise as he leaves before a sneer twists his lips.

"Well, yeah, I didn't want you here anyway, Potter, you hear me?"

His voice is higher pitched and he looks offended but Harry just nods acquiescingly. Of course the blonde kid didn't want him here; that's why Harry is leaving. Then he wonders where to go – there are only rooms up here. Where would he go to find a closet?

There are a few older years still in the common area below the private rooms.

"What you're doing with that, then?" One of them asks with a laugh. "You gonna take that outside? You do remember what the Professor said about pranking, right?"

Harry blinks but that makes sense; the other kid had said he didn't belong and Professor Snape was upset with him here. Besides, he didn't see anywhere to sleep here. It's not like Harry can curl up on the soft-looking carpet to sleep. He needs to find his cupboard.

"Thank you," he says, dragging his trunk outside only vaguely hearing a concerned "Kid?" behind him as the entrance closes.

Good. He can find something now.

Harry takes a long time to find something. He wanders the dark, dank hallways for hours. He finds many cupboards, some with cleaning supplies, some empty, but knows they aren't large enough for his trunk. It's at the point of night where Harry thinks he may have to concede and give up and leave his trunk outside one of the cupboards but suddenly a door appears on his right.

Harry blinks. He was certain it hadn't been there a moment earlier, but it's not like he can afford to be picky. The entire castle is magic with stairs and ghosts appearing and disappearing, why would doors and rooms be any different? Harry only hopes it will still be there tomorrow or he will lose access to his trunk.

Opening the door he finds a small room, barely enough for the bed and access to a bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. Great, he had been wondering how he would be able to clean his clothes. No one had shown them the laundry yet or the kitchen.

Only Freaks don't get a bed, he's only ever had a mattress.

As soon as the thought occurs, the bed disappears and the mattress plops to the ground. Harry stares and blinks before just dismissing it as yet more magic. He hopes he isn't stealing anyone else's room and before he can finish the thought hand drawn – with crayon – shape appears over the mattress in the corner. It's the same spider he drew in his cupboard when he was only four or five.

Harry smiles. This really is his room. It's nice of magic to actually make it so nice for him. But Freaks don't get duvets, they get blankets – the item disappears and is replaced promptly. For a moment he stares at the pillow – he's never had one but by the same token Aunt Petunia never said he couldn't have one.

…

No, be good, he reminds himself and the pillow disappears as well. Good. Mattress and blanket and enough space for his trunk. He can stand in the room which is nice. And access to a loo and shower is even better.

Harry disrobes quickly, shivering in the cold air. The stone underneath his feet feels like ice but Harry persists in washing his clothes and hanging them up to dry. He doesn't have many socks or underwear, so he needs to make sure everything is clean and taken care of as soon as he can.

Once he's finished, Harry relaxes and promptly feels his magic dissipate.

He barely makes it to the toilet before throwing up everything he's eaten (ever, Harry thinks). He's shaky and drawn by the time he makes it to bed. Hogwarts is much colder than Privet Drive, the wind seeping in through the bottom of the door and the gaps in the stone. Harry shivers underneath the duvet, his stomach twisting in both hunger and revulsion. He wonders if he will have to eat that amount everyday.

The next time Harry finds out to his horror he doesn't just have to eat that amount every day but several times per day. This is so much worse than not getting to eat. Will he ever get to eat here or will they just make him eat and eat until he throws up every time? His throat is so dry and sore. Laundry facilities are still a mystery as is the kitchen.

Luckily it barely takes a day before, during breakfast, one of the older students, looking tired, asks him what he's doing here and that they don't want him there. Another student shushes him, but, relieved, Harry nods at the boy and thanks him, leaving.

He doesn't have to stay there in front of all these people and be gawked at nor does he have to eat until magic is the only reason he's not vomiting over the table.

It's been a few months since the last time he's been punished with long-term withholding of food, but Harry is certain that this shakiness is not a good time. He's going to be messing up. His concentration on tasks is already shaky.

Biting his lips in uncertainty, Harry hovers for a moment before setting out to find the kitchen. Just a little bit of fruit. If he helps with meal preparation, he will surely be allowed a little bit, right? Or maybe after he's washed the dishes? There must be thousands with all these students, that would earn him a piece of bread maybe?

He's barely gone around the corner before he finds himself in a dead-end with a fruit portrait at the end. Harry was certain that around this corner had been the way back to his room before, but maybe he was mistaken?

However, when he turned around, there was a wall where he came from. Hesitating for only another second, Harry stepped closer to the portrait. When he was a few steps away, the portrait swung open and a sea of creatures paused in the middle of preparations.

He had found the kitchens, Harry thought jubilantly, sending a silent thanks to the castle who had led him to his room and now the kitchens too. Magic objects were so much nicer than people, it seemed. She must be so sick of all these wizards and witches in her halls too.

"Poppy? Did all my first years come and see you?" Severus asked distractedly as he perused the list of priority potions needed to restock the infirmary.

"Yes and no," she replied and he finally gave her his full focus, one eyebrow raised.

"And what, precisely, does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you start with me, Severus, you can't intimidate me like the wee bairn in your class."

He grinned slightly.

"And I think you spent too much time during your holidays with Minerva. Wee bairn, indeed."

Poppy laughed.

"No, everyone's been by, except for Mr Potter but I got the form here from Dumbledore that he was taken to St Mungo's before school and has been checked most thoroughly."

Severus snorted, rolling his eyes and turned back to the potions.

"Of course Mr. Potter gets special treatment. What else could we possibly expect?" Another scoff. "Anything concerning regarding the first years?"

Poppy sighs. "You haven't even met Mr. Potter yet; he may surprise you."

When Severus didn't react, she let it go easily though, having had to handle far too many injuries on the small child when he had still been a student to not understand his grudge. She had one of her own – although mostly against Minerva and Albus for not following through on teaching the children in their care the right lessons.

"First years are okay. Mr. Nott is a bit lacking in sunlight but from all accounts he's part-Ravenclaw so just make sure he goes out a bit more. Without sunlight his body won't absorb other nutrients and vitamins as it should. We've got the usual suspects in the other years, same as previous but milder – still you may need to talk and bully a few parents into better compliance."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things," Severus teased, before vanishing back into the fire with a swirl of his robes. Poppy laughed slightly. Severus always tried to appear cold-hearted and cruel, but he was the only one investigating and following up abuse cases and improving children's lives outside of Hogwarts. And she'd seen the concern on his face when she'd handed him the files.

Severus was much softer inside than he let on, but Dumbledore kept telling him he needed him to act as a spy, so disdain, bullying and blatant favouritism were still the order of the day. He tried to limit himself to groups or kids who could take it (like Fred and George) but he had his blind spots (like young Harry Potter).

Poppy sighed and wondered whether this would end well or require intervention.